


Skin Like Silk

by Nyxelestia



Series: Skin [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Assassins, Beacon Hills Deadpool, Creeper Peter Hale, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, M/M, Modeling, Peter doesn't let it stay unresolved for long, Photography, Post-Nogitsune, Season 4 AU, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, fashion - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:47:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5627164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxelestia/pseuds/Nyxelestia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles becoming a model in the first place was all Lydia's fault.</p><p>However, needing the money to pay off his post-nogitsune hospital bills wasn't her fault. Agreeing to model for Peter and his first new design line since the fire wasn't her fault. Someone stealing nearly a hundred million dollars from the Hales and siccing a bunch of assassins on the whole damn town definitely wasn't.</p><p>Peter - his wandering eyes, his trailing hands, and his ridiculous fashion photo shoot - was his own damn fault.</p><p>(Canon divergent/Season 4 Model!AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin Like Silk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glossary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glossary/gifts).



> Originally meant for Steter Secret Santa. But then real life conspired against me in the form of limited free time as well as limited access to a computer. I kind of went into "make this long to make up for the lateness mode" when the due date passed by while I was waving despondently at it. But now it turns out my computer is still not up to speed and my free time is about to become even more severely limited, so instead of waiting until I'm done with the whole thing, I'll post the chapters as I finish them. Hopefully it won't be too long between updates - I actually have the beginning and end completed, it's just the middle chapters giving me grief.
> 
> Can also be seen as a spiritual prequel to [Skin Like Wine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4373744).

When Stiles had gone to audition for the stupid modeling job, he hadn’t really meant it.

It had started out as a joke among the Pack, finding some model casting call flyer on the floor of Derek’s loft. No one could figure out where it came from. Stiles suggested Scott audition, only for Scott to insist Stiles would make a much better model. Because Stiles is in a pack with a bunch of traitors, by the end of the week Stiles had an appointment with the modeling agency which he didn’t even know about until he was _sitting in a car outside the building goddamnit Lydia_.

He should’ve known something was up when she insisted on giving him a ride. By and large, she preferred to use Stiles like her own personal chauffeur, even if it meant going places in his jeep.

“Why?” he wailed when she handed him an envelope. He pulled out - “What is this?”

“It’s called a comp card,” Lydia said, smiling down at the glossy cards - each half the size of a sheet of paper with a bunch of pictures of Stiles on it. “They’re standard in the modeling industry.”

“…but I’m not in the modeling industry!” Stiles yelped.

“Yet,” Lydia said with a grin. “C’mon, it’ll be good for you.”

“Again I ask, why?” Stiles demanded, staring at the building like it was about to attack. One never knew in this town. There wasn’t anything differentiating it from all the other plain, brick buildings that populated downtown Beacon Hills. “I’m not exactly attractive-”

“Yes, you are,” Lydia said, rolling her eyes as she reached over to release Stiles’ seatbelt. “A, you clean up nice when you actually put in the effort and you have a great figure - one which is all human. And B…”

She trailed off, her smirk dropping into a graver expression.

“B?” Stiles asked.

Lydia sighed. “You’re still afraid of your own reflection,” she murmured, reaching over to grasp in hand in her own. “You still flinch if you see yourself in a mirror.”

Stiles almost flinched at her words.

“I know it’s not the same,” Lydia continued, tilting her head towards the building. “But maybe this can…nudge you forward. Getting used to the idea that other people like to look at you.”

“…you realize just how low the likelihood of them even calling me back is, right?” Stiles asked.

Lydia shrugged. “Not the point. The point is to walk into a room and not hide when everyone is looking at you, and only at you.”

Stiles sighed. He could never resist Lydia.

Still, while she was a bit of a traitor, she was also a good friend, so she looped her arm through his to escort him inside. There, Stiles let her drag him through several doors, past several desks, and up two flights of stairs.

That led them to a lobby filled with other hot guys, ones whom he and Lydia eyed-up and compared in whispers in their own private corner.

“Okay, the eye-candy is a bonus,” Stiles admitted, trying to be subtle about checking out one guy’s ass. “At least my inferiority complex is mitigated by the arousal.”

Lydia snickered, and Stiles continued, saying, “I would’ve expected…”

“What?”

“Being better dressed?” Stiles said, with a shrug. Surprisingly, he didn’t stand out all that much. His jeans were a little on the loose side, sliding down his hips, but his shirt was well fitted - one of the many Lydia had bought for him on one retail therapy trip or another. He was wearing his usual plaid over it, unbuttoned, and Lydia had made him take off his hoodie about three rooms ago, draping it over his arm.

At Stiles’ comment, she started tugging at the plaid, too. “You’re not supposed to look good. You’re supposed to be a blank canvas for them to make you look good,” she said, ignoring his grumbling to actually start unbuttoning his plaid over-shirt. “Off,” she ordered.

Eventually, she had to stay behind while he went into the room. There was a couch, a recliner, some empty cups and a fake fruit bowl on a coffee table - and opposite that, a table of casting agents.

Stiles took a deep breath and stepped forward.

There were five people there, who asked him questions about scheduling and fitness and how he maintained his current shape. When they asked him why he was getting into modeling, Stiles admitted someone else had made this appointment for him to boost his self-esteem, which they seemed amused by more than anything else.

Then they made him sit and stand and lean and a bunch of other poses, making notes and whispering to each other. Stiles just did his best not to fidget while following their instructions.

All told, it lasted fifteen minutes, and then Stiles was back out the door to Lydia’s waiting gaze.

He shrugged. “I didn’t flinch, hide, or dive out the window. Even though I really, really wanted to.”

She smiled, handing him his plaid shirt back and looping her arm through his. “Good. That’s all I wanted.

If Stiles were being honest, he assumed that was the end of it. He hadn’t dressed for the part, had stumbled his way through the questions, and probably made an ass of himself compared to the multitude of professionals that had also been in the waiting room.

He had bigger problems to worry about - like the hospital bills Dad thought he was hiding from Stiles.

Snooping through his father’s desk at home, Stiles stared down at the red stamps and big numbers and yet again cursed himself for letting the nogitsune in, for surviving, for not being able to answer for any of it or even help pay for it.

Stiles sighed and put the bills away.

To say he was shocked when the agency called back a week later would be an understatement. The HR lady had to ask if Stiles was still on the line twice. He apologized as he wrote down the dates and contact information and list of documents he would need to get the job.

Then he called Lydia. She laughed and said _told you so_ and Stiles wasn’t sure what that meant - hadn’t the audition been the point of this whole exercise, not the job? - but he concurred, so he didn’t say anything. Instead, he reiterated the dates and addresses to her, knowing she would demand to come along.

“I’ll give you a bit of whatever I get,” Stiles promised.

“What?” Lydia asked, bewildered.

Stiles smiled at the fridge as he adjusted the phone. “You got me this job in the first place.”

She sighed. “You don’t have to, you know. You need it more than I do - no, don’t, I was the first one you called about the hospital bills, don’t lie. My family isn’t that desperate for money to need charity.”

“What charity?” Stiles said. “You’re my - what’s it called, agent? Manager? That.”

Laughing, she relented, objecting to how much Stiles wanted to give her, but at least agreeing to accept something.

She also agreed to keep her silence on the matter. She wouldn’t lie to any of the pack, but if they didn’t ask, she wouldn’t say anything. Stiles wanted to wait until the job was a little surer before he sprung it on anyone.

The next few weeks were filled with meetings to go over paperwork, requirements, rules, and other important stuff a new model needed to know. The HR Manager, Carla, had a filing system that made Stiles’ eyes shine with adoration. Lydia rolled her eyes at him as she divided paperwork into more comprehensible piles for Stiles.

Stiles winced at all the rules about major body modifications that all but banned them without agency permission. One day, someday, Stiles was going to be getting some tattoos as part of his Emissary training.

But that was a while off. Stiles probably wouldn’t even have this job for a year, so he signed that agreement along with all the others.

Dad had to come in twice to sign off on some other paperwork since Stiles was still a minor. The first time was the bulk of the paperwork. The second time was him just giving them permission to let Stiles bring the paperwork home from there on out.

There were also some seminars about workplace safety, harassment, and abuse that he had to sit through. They came complete with a few quizzes to make sure he hadn’t _just_ sat through them.

After he finished the last of them, Carla sent Stiles two doors down to the Sandra the Assignment Manager - who already had a job waiting for him.

“You were hired for this job, actually,” she said, rifling through the package of his completed paperwork.

“I thought this was just a general audition?” Stiles asked, frowning. “The flyer said-”

“It was,” she said, setting down his package and smiling at him. “But it was triggered by a few new designers signing on with us, so they had some particular jobs in mind when auditioning. The studio will be here tomorrow afternoon.”

“Studio?” Stiles asked. “What, like, a whole-”

“Sort of,” Sandra said. “It’s - old designer, new business, so it’s just three people that they're starting with. He'd been a big name back in the day before - well, a family situation took him out of the industry for a while. But he's back, now, starting small as he gets his feet under him. This will be good for you. His line should do very well, which will get your name and face out there as far as modeling goes."

Stiles smiled to hide the sudden spike of irrational terror. He knew what the job was. But there was a big difference between knowing that he was about to get his picture taken a lot, and knowing that there were going to be a lot of people _looking_ at pictures of him.

“Sounds good,” he said, doing his best to hide the nervousness.

Sandra sent him off with a cheerful three o’clock sharp! Outside, Lydia was waiting for him as she finished up a conversation with Carla.

"I have a job," Stiles said, bewildered.

Lydia nodded. "I heard." She grinned. "I guess this means I'm friends with a model, now."

They laughed the entire elevator ride down.

~*~

The next day, Stiles found himself following Lydia into the plain building, down a hall, through a conference room doorway-

-and right into her.

Stiles flailed back after literally walking into her frozen figure. Stiles was about to ask her what the hell she stopped for, only to glance over her head and find himself frozen, too.

“Stiles,” the smarmiest of the Hales greeted. “Lydia.”

“Peter?!” Stiles and Lydia both blurted out at once. Any other time, and Stiles would mentally high-five himself - or literally high-five Lydia - for the unison outburst. Right now, he was too confused to think about it.

Sandra blinked in surprise. “You know each other?” she asked, looking between Peter and the two teenagers.

“Unfortunately,” Lydia said darkly, making Sandra lean back in her seat in bewilderment.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Stiles snapped. “We-”

“I’m the designer,” Peter drawled. Then he turned to Sandra and added, “They’re friends of my nephew - the one who I…have some occasional difficulties with.”

Stiles snorted. “Understatement of the fucking millennium right there. I don’t know what the hell you’re up to-”

“Fashion,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. The unspoken _idiot_ hung between them.

Stiles scowled. “Is it too late to quit?”

“I don’t think so,” Lydia answered coolly, and Stiles didn’t have to see her face to know she was glaring holes into Peter.

Sandra frowned. “Stiles-”

“For god’s sake, sit down and at least pretend you’re adults,” Peter said, gesturing towards the two empty chairs with water bottles in front of them. Along with Sandra and Peter were two other very well-dressed people, a blond guy and black girl, both of whom looked particularly unimpressed by Stiles’ outburst. “I have no interest in reliving old fights with either of you. This is just business.”

Stiles came around Lydia, his hiring suddenly making a lot more sense. Peter probably finagled somewhere along the line to get Stiles hired. “Why me?” he demanded, gesturing towards the small sheaf of papers sitting in front of what was presumably his seat.

Peter smiled, eyes roving shamelessly up and down Stiles’ body. Stiles shifted and tried not to squirm, caught between the heat in Peter’s eyes and remembered heat of Peter’s burning body.

Sandra sighed. “Your physique matches what they need for the fashion line - toned but slim. And the contrast of your skin and hair will work well with the black-and-white spread they're considering.” Then she turned to Peter, saying, “But we do have other models who could fit your needs, if this is going to be a problem.”

Stiles turned around to see Lydia pursing her lips. He could see she wanted to say _it'll be a problem_ just as much as he did.

But before either of them could, Peter said, “At least look at the contract before you turn this down. You’d be perfect, Stiles.”

And, yeah, it was official - Stiles was only hired because of Peter. That was a good enough reason to refuse the job, right then and there.

He was about to say as much when Peter, rolling his eyes, suddenly tugged the papers from Stiles’ seat to his own side. He turned to a page halfway through, high-lighted something, then pushed it back towards Stiles.

Stiles looked down, and swallowed when he realized what he was looking at.

What he would get paid for doing this shoot.

“Don’t you still have hospital bills to pay off?” Peter continued, voice as smooth now as it had been when he offered Stiles the Bite - in a parking garage, after kidnapping Stiles, and quite literally on top of a dead body. Sandra’s frown grew, while the other two people - presumably Peter’s meager staff - turned their attention to a tablet resting between them. “You know exactly how stingy I'm _not_. This should help.”

It would. God, it would not only cut their bills in half, but it would save them so much on interest. More importantly, it would send the bulk of their stress right out the window, having something like this to fall back on - even after giving a slice of it to Lydia.

He felt more than heard Lydia come beside him and peer around his shoulder.

They shared a look, and with a sigh, Lydia pulled out the chair next to Stiles’.

“Just so you know,” Stiles said, also taking his seat. “I’m telling Derek about this. And Scott.”

“And if you ever make one wrong move,” Lydia continued, smiling her sweetest at Peter. “We-”

“Will get my nephew to rip my throat out again,” Peter finished for them, rolling his eyes. The staffers looked up in confusion, and Sandra looked caught between wanting to ask and not wanting to know. They seemed to assume Peter was making some kind of weird metaphor, though, because with a sigh, Sandra started pulling at yet more papers.

“All right, let’s go over the job, then we can make a decision,” she said.

Peter grinned outright, tilting his head. Stiles could hear the _see, let’s be reasonable about this_ the man was clearly thinking but not saying.

“I was actually going to say I can still make a few more Molotov cocktails,” Lydia said primly, pulling a little case of paperwork stuff - pens, highlighters, and a variety of sticky notes - from her purse. “But sure, why not.”

Stiles burst out laughing, Sandra looked alarmed, and the staffers looked completely bewildered. Peter…smiled.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you,” Peter said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers.

He didn’t specify either of them, but it was only Stiles he was gazing at when he spoke.

“Let’s…just get back to business,” Sandra said, apparently giving up trying to understand all this.

“With pleasure,” Peter said.

Stiles had an uncomfortable feeling Peter meant it.

~*~

“Someone _robbed_ nearly a hundred million dollars from you?!”

Stiles' incredulous shout hung in the air of Derek's loft. Pacing by the windows in the low afternoon light, Derek nodded.

Lydia and Kira were stunned into silence, Scott made a choked off noise, and Ethan growled in impotent anger on Derek’s behalf. Only Isaac and Malia were calm - the former because he’d already heard, the latter because she was trying to wrap her head around just how much money that was.

“How?!” Stiles demanded.

Derek sighed, pacing back and forth in front of a table covered in papers that Peter was sorting through.

“We had a bunch of old bearer bonds sitting in a community bank my family helped start in the first place back in…” Derek frowned, then looked at Peter.

“Sometime just before World War One,” Peter said with a shrug and without looking up. “When our ancestors first got here.

Derek tilted his head towards Peter, before continuing. “It was…I wouldn’t call it emergency money, exactly. But over the years, we’d invest in various types of savings and investment bonds.” With a sigh, he said. “I knew it was worth a lot, but I didn’t know it was _this_ much until the bank called us.”

“So what now?” Ethan asked, frowning.

“Nothing, really,” Derek said, finally pausing to stare in frustration out the window. “I’m just letting you know because this is a big problem and it’s probably going to come up a lot. The FBI is already working to track down the thief-” Scott growled at that, unhappy to hear the agency would be staying in town even longer, but he kept it down and Derek ignored it. “-and we’re working on some other issues to try and make this problem as…small as possible.”

"Well, let us know if we can do anything to help," Scott offered sincerely. Derek smiled, apparently grateful for the offer despite believing that none of them would be able to help.

"Anyone else have news?" Scott asked.

Lydia pointed at Stiles, who sighed and grumbled, "I do."

Everyone looked at him. Peter's lips oozed into a smile as he noticed Stiles' grouchiness and deducted the cause of it.

"Good news and bad news," Stiles said, "Good news, I have a job. Bad news-" Stiles pointed at Peter. "I'm working for him."

The pack stared at him with varying degrees of disbelief.

Peter just rolled his eyes with the most melodramatic sigh Stiles had ever heard in his life - and between Scott and Lydia, that was really saying something.

"Don't be so dour, Stiles," Peter said. "I'm hardly going to kidnap you with my business on the line."

"What business?" Scott asked, looking to Derek for an answer.

Derek rolled his eyes, pacing back towards the couch cluster. "Some fashion thing. He had some design studio-"

"-which I am now restarting," Peter said, likely trying to stop Derek from saying 'before the fire'. Then, Peter looked at Derek. "And since he is presumably telling you this so you all come looking at me should someone make any untoward attempts on our little emissary-in-training's life, I'm using the top two floors of the office building by Fifth and Richards Street." He smirked at Stiles. "Which Derek technically owns, so he has the key to that building. Easy throat-tearing access, if it makes you feel better."

"You know," Stiles said, leaning back and glaring at him. "That actually does."

"So easy to please," Peter drawled.

"I've got some old cologne bottles I can repurpose into explosives," Lydia offered.

"And I still have some of the Argents' light-sabers," Isaac added.

Stiles smiled at them - and it grew into a grin at the flat expression on Peter's face.

"...as long as you feel safe," Scott said, eyeing Peter with totally warranted suspicion. He looked at Stiles. "Are you sure?"

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Peter, who gave Stiles his smuggest and smarmiest smirk.

"Yeah," Stiles lied. "I'm sure."


End file.
